


angels, close your eyes to this

by thunderylee



Category: Good Charlotte
Genre: Blasphemy, Canon Universe, M/M, POV First Person, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-22
Updated: 2006-07-22
Packaged: 2019-02-08 01:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12853335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: The twins go to Heaven and Pete Wentz is a douche.





	angels, close your eyes to this

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [ghosts of ignorance past](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12853347) by [thunderylee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee). 



> reposted from agck.

“Dude, where’s my brother?”

A sea of people surround me, most of whom I’ve never seen in my life. My mortal life, anyway; the cloudy ground and my sense of weightlessness leads me to believe that I’m dead. That’s not what’s important right now, though.

I see some holy-looking dude standing by these enormous golden gates, and I wade my way through the crowd towards him. He smiles down at me and checks a large scroll that reminds me of Santa Claus’ naughty or nice list.

“Benjamin Madden,” he says, his voice booming. “We’ve been expecting you. This way, please.”

“Where’s my brother?” I demand, raising my voice. I should probably show some more respect, but that’s also not important.

“Joshua is still alive,” the guy replies, his spectacles sliding down his nose as he sweeps his eyes over his list again.

“Fuck Josh. I’m talking about Joel.”

Fluffy white eyebrows rise in surprise as he checks the list again. “He’s still alive as well – no, wait, he went to Hell.”

“He _what_?” I exclaim.

“He went to Hell,” St. Peter repeats, offering another smile. “Would you care to pass through the gates now?”

“No, I would _not_ care to pass through the gates,” I spit. “If Joel is in Hell, I should be there with him. Beam me down.”

He chuckles. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

I fold my arms and regard him skeptically. “I’m afraid I don’t believe you.”

“For one thing, Mr. Madden, it’s impossible to breech the entrance to Hell with wings.”

I am strangely aware of extra appendages on my person, craning my neck around to look at them as I flap them for good measure. “Awesome.”

“Ordinarily you would have joined your brother in the fiery depths,” St. Peter goes on; I barely hear him due to my fascination with the five-foot, pure white wings. “Lucky for you, sacrificing yourself for the sake of another automatically erases all sins.”

“I sacrificed myself for _him_ ,” I say insistently, abandoning my new body parts to focus my full attention on this old dude. “If he died anyway, it was pointless. Send me away.”

“I can’t -”

“You can’t separate twins!” I scream, not caring that half of the previous world’s population is staring at me. “It isn’t worth being here and having awesome wings if he’s rotting in Hell by himself! I’d rather be down there rotting with him. You can take your wings and shove them up your -”

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Madden,” St. Peter says slowly, holding up one hand that somehow brings my mouth to a halt. “Your brother is down there because -”

“I know damn well why he’s down there,” I cut him off, trying to contain my rage. “I was there too, you know. I committed the same sins he did. I want to talk to your supervisor.”

He chuckled softly; his smile was starting to get annoying. “Do you know who my supervisor is?”

I stare him down. “I don’t care if it’s the big guy himself. I want to fucking talk to him. Make a deal, or something.”

St. Peter pointed to his left. “By all means, step through the gates and speak with him.”

“I’m not going through those gates until Joel is by my side.”

The old bastard must have finally realized that I’m not going to let up, because he sighed and snapped his fingers. A really scrawny guy with horrible emo bangs and an upside-down mouth appeared out of thin air, flapping wings that looked older than mine but not bigger.

“Pete fucking Wentz?” I gasp, astonished. “Didn’t you kill yourself?”

Pete Wentz frowned, making him look even funnier. “For what did you summon me, St. Peter?”

“This new angel would like to resurrect his twin brother from Hell,” St. Peter tells him.

I ball my fists in anger. “That’s not what I -”

“Mr. Madden, I am speaking with the head of the Soul Patrol. This is the only loophole that would allow you to be reunited with your brother.”

It amuses me greatly that Pete Wentz could be the head of _anything_ , let alone something called the Soul Patrol, but it also occurs to me that the fate of my brother’s afterlife rests in his grubby hands. I sigh reluctantly and nod, taking a step back.

“I do have an opening,” Pete Wentz says even more reluctantly, as though he’d rather have Hitler working for him than me and Joel. Personally, I’d rather work for Hitler. “Mr. Madden, my department deals with the lost souls who are still alive. We speak to them in their unconsciousness and try to save them.”

“You mean like preach to them?” I inquire, only slightly interested. “Try to get them to accept the Lord and all that jazz?”

“Not entirely,” Pete Wentz responds. “Most of the time it doesn’t have anything to do with religion. Each despaired soul is different, but our main goal is to ensure that they are accepted into Heaven when their time comes, and to do that they need to be able to follow the three simple rules: accept, respect, and love. We show them pieces of their lives and the lives of others close to them in an effort to make them appreciate different lifestyles and become better people overall.”

“In other words, you guilt them into behaving the way you want them to.”

“ _No_ ,” he counters, clearly offended. “We -”

“I get it,” I say, tired of hearing his voice. “I’m in. How long ’til Joel gets here?”

“I will send for him after you complete your first assignment.” Pete Wentz folded his arms and looked quite proud of himself. “Your first _successful_ assignment, that is. If you will follow me, I’ll show you to your quarters.”

“I’m not going through the gates until he’s here with me,” I say again, flapping my wings angrily for effect. “You can give me my assignment right now.”

“You need to be trained -”

“I don’t need to be trained in how to manipulate people.” I grin smugly. “I already know how to do that just fine.”

“Suit yourself.” Pete Wentz pulls a scroll similar to St Peter’s out of his pocket and thrusts it at me. “Twenty-three year old female, African-American, cheating on her husband with his brother. Good luck.”

Before I can blink, I’m transported into a very dark, very warm building. While I can’t see anything, the sounds of two people in the throes of passion meet my ears full force. What timing. I wonder if I’m allowed to perv for a moment before I make my move.

As my eyes adjust to the lack of light, I notice that the chick is beautiful. I’ve always had a thing for colored women, mostly Asians, but black women are just as exotic. Her caramel-colored hair whips from side to side as she rides the man beneath her, who has a striking resemblance to Tyrese. Her wedding band sits abandoned on the end table, leading me to believe that this is the aforementioned brother-in-law.

I make a face as I consider the possibility of having sex with anyone Joel has been with. I’d kick Hilary Duff out of bed just on principle. The hottest girl on Earth could hook up with Joel (as if), and she would suddenly become unattractive in my eyes. Although we used to joke about tag-teaming Kylie Minogue, I don’t think either one of us would have gone through with it.

It takes about an hour for them to get off and fall asleep, which gives me just enough time to formulate my master plan. I never thought that being forced to listen to emo pop music would come in handy, but the song “Unfaithful” echoes in my head as I watch the girl return her wedding band to the appropriate finger before curling up at the opposite end of the bed from her lover.

I’m not sure how this is supposed to work, but I picture a graveyard in my mind and the next thing I know, we are both there. The girl turns to me, unfortunately fully dressed, and regards me skeptically. “Who the fuck are you?”

I like her already. “I’m Benji, and I’ll be your angel for the evening.”

She raises a penciled eyebrow. “Angels have piercings and tattoos?”

“Yes,” I say simply, stretching my wings out to full length to prove myself. I feel slightly superior as she stares at them in awe.

“Why are you here?” she asks, her tone more calm.

“I want to show you something,” I say, taking her by the hand and leading her to a specific pair of graves in the cemetery.

She gasps, falling to her knees. “Both of them?”

“Your husband followed you one night,” I say quietly but quickly, as though I’m telling a particularly exciting ghost story. “He walked in on the two of you, his gun at the ready before he even burst down the door, shooting the other man upon entry. When he saw it that was his brother, he turned the gun on himself.”

“Oh, my God,” she manages to say between sobs.

This is too easy. “You went to the funeral, but the dirty stares from their friends and family kept you at a distance. They were as disgusted with you as you were with yourself.”

She breaks down into tears, flinging herself on her husband’s gravestone. “I don’t wanna do this anymore!” she wails. “I don’t wanna be the reason why!”

I have to fight to keep from laughing; the resemblance to the song is too coincidental. Instead, I gently help her to her feet and grab both of her hands in mine, putting on my best straight face as I look into her deep chocolate eyes. “You don’t have to be. You can stop.”

“I can stop,” she repeats. “I love him.”

I nod.

“Thank you, Angel.” She flings her arms around me, clutching onto the base of my wings in such an intimate way that it sends a surge of heat straight to my groin.

I immediately jump back before she notices the result of her innocent actions, and mentally make a note to beat up Pete Wentz for not informing me about this “side effect” of wings.

“Good-bye, Angel.” She waves happily as she slowly drifts away from me.

I find myself in the clouds again, looking into this huge bowl full of silver substance that is identical to the pensieve from the Harry Potter movies.

“Good work, Madden!” Pete Wentz smacks me on the back and I try to refrain from choking him. “I didn’t think you had it in you to go the drastic route. Let’s see if you made a difference.”

I peer over the bowl and watch the sleeping couple in the bedroom. The girl seems to wake abruptly and creep out of bed, gathering her shit and leaving. Good girl.

“She could still go back,” Pete Wentz whispers in this creepy way. “But that’s the chance we have to take with all of our lost souls.”

He is entirely too close to me. I make it a point to stand as far away as possible, and I almost smack myself when I catch sight of the golden gates in the distance and rearrange my priorities. “Is Joel coming now?”

Pete Wentz nods, and I almost hug him. “We sent for him right before you returned. He should be here any minute. I wanted to -”

What Pete Wentz wants, I don’t stick around to find out. Once again I’m making my way through the sea of wingless people waiting to get into Heaven like it’s an upscale night club, all of whom make it a point to touch my wings like they are the Holy Grail. When I finally reach the end of the line, I feel thoroughly molested.

“Benji!”

My face breaks out into a grin as I recognize my twin’s unforgettable voice. “Joel!” I call back, twisting my head in circles in an attempt to find him.

“Benji, I’m stuck!”

I’m not sure what makes me look upwards, but I’m grateful for it. My brother seems to be suspended at the very edge of the heavens, as though there were a giant hook holding him up by the shirt.

Pete Wentz is instantly by my side. “You have to bring him down,” he says. “Hell demons aren’t allowed in the atmosphere without an escort. He’ll explode like a firework if he breathes the air in here on his own.”

“He’s not a demon,” I say bitterly. “Well, not all the time.”

“Pete fucking Wentz?” Joel exclaims. “I think I want to go back to Hell.”

“How do I get him down?” I ask, looking at my new boss with desperate eyes.

He blinks. “You fly.”

Right. I just got owned by Pete Wentz, but I choose to ignore this and flap my wings until I’m lifting off of the ground, albeit a bit shakily. I’m pretty sure I resemble a baby bird trying to fly for the first time, and I begin to wonder why I didn’t do this the minute I realized that I had awesome wings.

“Jesus Christ, Benj,” says Joel as I approach him. “Your wings are huge.”

“I know,” I reply smugly. “They’re bigger than Pete Wentz’s.”

He grins. “Awesome.”

I hold out my hand. “I have to escort you down or you will blow up upon entry.”

“You mean I get to die again?” Joel replies sarcastically. “I guess the first time wasn’t good enough.”

He reaches for my hand, and once our skin connects, whatever barrier that was containing him breaks and I have to rush to catch him before he falls. Granted, the ground looks like cotton candy, but I don’t want to take any chances.

There is only one way to fly with a grown man in my possession; Joel wraps his arms around my neck and his legs around my waist with such force that it clicks in my head that he is scared shitless, and I tighten my grip on him and begin the decent.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” I whisper, trying to hold in my own elation at finally being with him again.

“I’m not a demon,” he mutters into my neck.

“Of course you’re not,” I reply.

Pete Wentz is eyeballing us as we land. “He’ll have to stay with you until he earns his wings,” he says sternly. “He must remain in your presence at all times; if you are separated for even a second, Security will send him back to Hell. Once he completes his first successful assignment, he will no longer be classified as a Hell demon and he will be free to roam about the heavens like anyone else. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I reply, grabbing a hold of Joel’s hand for good measure. “You may show us to our quarters now.”

He looks slightly disgusted at our intertwined hands, but says nothing. Instead, he turns on his heel and leads us through the golden gates, which breathe a large gust of warm air on us much like the automated doors at Wal-Mart.

The Soul Patrol building is immediately to the right after the gates, completely with a huge neon sign and the cheesiest motto I have ever seen: “Saving lives, one soul at a time.”

We pass corridor after corridor of bedrooms and common areas before Pete Wentz pauses at a door. “We only have single rooms available right now, so you’ll have to share a bed.” He smirks. “You should be used to that.”

Joel flips up his middle finger, but Pete Wentz just shakes his head. “You only get one assignment per mortal day. A scroll will appear on your door shortly after midnight; all you have to do is have Joel touch it first, and it’s his job. Any questions?”

“What’s the sex policy?” Joel asks bluntly.

Pete Wentz fails in hiding his grin. “Try it and see.”

With that, he disappears. Joel and I look at each other for about five seconds before we slam the door shut and fall against it. Nothing extraordinary happens when we press our lips together, nor when I slip my tongue into his mouth and deepen the kiss with enough intensity that I lose my mind a little bit.

We blindly stumble towards the bed and flop down onto it, him on top of me. I seem to subconsciously prevent crushing my wings by stretching them out before impact, the ends hanging off of the sides of the bed. Joel’s hands run up the length of my back and underneath the top of my wings, making me groan loudly and thrust my hardening groin upwards against him.

“ _Really_ ,” he says amazedly, smirking down at me. “Who knew angel wings could be so stimulating?”

“It’s like an extension of my dick,” I say, my words becoming strained as he continues to trail his fingers along the feathers. The entire length of my wings shudder as another moan escapes my lungs. “Fuck, Joel, I want you so bad.”

He blinks. “I don’t feel anything.”

“ _What_?” I exclaim. “Stop touching my wings then, asshole.”

“No, it’s not you.” He sits up, still straddling my waist, and looks down at his crotch. “I feel nothing. I’m really turned on, but it’s like Mini-Me went on vacation.”

I press my hand against the fly of his jeans and rub around. “Nothing?”

He shakes his head. “Maybe it’s like in _Dogma_ when Alan Rickman shucks his pants and looks like a Ken doll.” His face takes on a completely devastated expression. “Oh, my God, did my penis disappear?”

“No, it’s still there,” I say, feeling said appendage through his jeans. “It’s just not interested.”

“What the fuck.” Joel frowns and glares downwards.

“I bet you can’t use it until you get your wings,” I say as the thought occurs to me. “That’s probably why Pete Wentz looked so fucking smug.”

“This is the real Hell,” Joel mumbles bitterly. “Put me in a room with my fucking sexy twin brother _with wings_ and make me impotent.”

I frown sympathetically. “We’ll just have to stay up until midnight and try to get the job done as soon as possible. Then we can come back here and celebrate.”

“In the meantime,” he says, a smirk slowly spreading on his face. “ _Yours_ is working fine.”

“I don’t think I can get off if you’re not into it,” I say honestly.

He scratches his nails down my wings as far as he can reach, kissing me on the lips and grinning when I close my eyes and buck my hips towards him again. “I think you can,” he whispers against my mouth. “I think I could get you off by just touching your wings.”

“It’s a possibility,” I reply reluctantly, resisting the urge to roll us over and take him, his pleasure be damned.

“I wonder…” He trails off, dipping his head into my neck to kiss my skin, shifting himself further up my body to press his lips against the soft feathers of my wings.

My wings jerk and almost smack him in the face as a long string of moans come out of my mouth. I clutch him around the shoulders and dig my painful erection into where his would be if only he had his damn wings.

“What feels the best, Benj?” he asks, his breath ghosting my ear. “Grabbing, scratching, stroking…” He demonstrates each action on my wings as he speaks, and all of them provoke a similar reaction in my human body. “All of the above?”

“Uh-huh,” I say tonelessly, having lost the capability of speech. “Just… God, just touch me.”

“You should be careful saying that up here,” he says with a hint of a chuckle. “He might hear you.”

“He’ll get over it,” I say, tightening my hold on Joel’s shoulders as he tugs lightly on a feather and makes my eyes roll back into my head.

“You know, this is kind of fun.” Joel whispers into my ear, keeping one hand on my wings while the other trails down my chest and stomach. “I can concentrate on pleasing you without letting my hormones interfere.”

“Holy _fuck_ ,” I growl as his fingers slip underneath my waistband and graze along the head of my cock. “Joel, I’m going to come in your fucking hand if you don’t do something.”

“You’re so crabby when you’re horny.” He pushes my shirt up as far as it will go, presumably not bothering to fight with my outstretched wings in order to take it off completely. Both of his hands stroke the length of my wings as he kisses his way down my bare chest and begins rubbing me through my pants with his mouth.

“ _Joel_ ,” I whine. “This is Heaven. You’re not supposed to tease me here.”

He chuckles, the vibrations making my cock so hard that it hurts, and removes his hands from my wings long enough to unfasten my pants and expose me to his hungry eyes.

My wings bring themselves around us to embrace him as he finally takes me into his mouth; they tremble just like the rest of my body when my cock hits the back of his throat. He sucks me slowly, looping his arms around my wings and massaging them gently, and it isn’t until he rubs the tips of my wings with his fingers that my body spasms uncontrollably with the force of the most intense orgasm I have ever experienced.

He swallows and licks his lips before peering up at me from between my legs. “Feel better?”

“Much,” I reply, sighing in relief.

He crawls up my body and settles into my embrace, not bothering to right my clothes. “Can you wrap me in your wings as we go to sleep?”

I smile. “You’re such a sap.” But I do it anyways.

“Hell was awful,” he tells me, snuggling as close as he can get and making a little noise of content when my wings envelope us both. “I can’t begin to describe it; it’s just the worst feeling ever.”

“I can only imagine,” I say, running my fingers through his short, messy hair. “You’re here with me now, and that’s all that matters.”

We doze off for awhile, and the next thing I know Joel is trying to wake me up in the best way possible: flicking his tongue between the feathers of my wings.

“Unless you want to blow me again, you might want to stop that,” I mumble, only half awake.

“In a couple hours, you can repay the favor,” he says excitedly, tossing a weightless piece of paper on my chest. “He gave us Matt Sanders.”

“Who?” I stretch and pry one eye open, fumbling for the paper and struggling to focus well enough to read it. “Don’t we know a Matt Sanders?”

“The one and only.” Joel’s grin was contagious, although I couldn’t figure out what was so thrilling about paying a visit to M Shadows in his sleep.

I groan sleepily. “What did the bastard do now?”

“He’s just a bastard, apparently.” Joel shrugged. “All it says is his name.”

“We have to make him stop being a bastard?” I reply incredulously. “That’s impossible, Joel.”

“It will be easy,” he says. “Won’t it?”

“No, it won’t.” I roll over and cover myself with my warm wings. “We may as well go back to sleep and wait for the next one.”

“No.”

The sternness in Joel’s voice is strong enough to make me raise my eyebrows without opening my eyes.

“No,” he says again. “Pete Wentz gave us this assignment because he thinks we will fail. I am not giving him the satisfaction of being right. I want my mojo back, dammit!”

I groan again and make an effort to roll out of bed. “All right, then, let’s go.”

[~*~*~*~](http://www.agirlcalledkil.com/?p=362)

The look on our boss’s face when we return could be classified as one of those Kodak moments. Wide-eyed, drop-jawed, in complete disbelief that we actually debastardized M Shadows.

“I’ll take those wings now,” Joel says smugly.

Pete Wentz can do nothing but shake his head as pure white feathers sprout from Joel’s back, flapping happily in the light breeze of the heavens.

“Mine are still bigger,” I note out loud.

“Just so you two know,” Pete Wentz says quietly, ascending upon the pair of us like he’s about to divulge a big secret, “as long as you continue to sin, you will continue to work for me.”

“Huh?” we reply in unison.

“I can see into every room in my building,” he continues cryptically. “My department is for the fallen angels who take it upon themselves to sin after being admitted into Heaven. Incestuous intercourse is a sin, you know.”

Joel snorts. “He said ‘intercourse’.”

“If you’re watching us,” I say, highly amused, “that just makes you a perv.”

“I wasn’t watching -”

“It’s okay,” I say quickly, pretending to give a shit about his feelings. “I understand – it’s impossible to deny the hotness that is us.”

“I hate you both,” he mumbles.

“Now now, Saint Pete Wentz,” says Joel, playing along. “Hate has no place in Heaven.”

I grin. “So what you’re basically saying is that as long as Joel and I continue to go on assignments and do good for the world, we can fuck?”

“Yes,” Pete Wentz replies, cringing noticeably at the profanity. “I would have let you both go free already, but there’s the little matter of what happened last night.”

“It will be happening again tonight,” Joel says decidedly. “And the night after that, and pretty much every night for the rest of eternity.”

“In fact,” I add, “I think it should happen right now. Piss off, Pete Wentz.”

He looks like he wants to say something, but probably can’t think of anything so he just turns around and walks out of our room. Joel immediately attacks me, throwing me down on the bed and hovering over me with his wings arched and fierce-looking.

“You owe me, _Saint Benji_ ,” he says in this low, sinister voice.

I make a grab for his wings and grin when one squeeze of the feathers makes him collapse on top of me and hump my leg. “Unbelievable,” he gasps into my neck. “This totally makes up for the hassle involved in putting on a shirt.”

“Shut up and fuck me,” I demand, bringing my own wings around us to rub against his. We both groan and crush our mouths together as we make quick work of our clothing, flinging them this way and that until there is nothing but flesh and feathers.

“Do you think we need lube in Heaven?” he wonders out loud.

I laugh as a bottle materializes on the nightstand. “Apparently so.”

His wings tighten around me as mine do the same to him, and when we finally come together in the Afterlife, it makes working for Pete Wentz totally worth it.


End file.
